Faelas, Bahador, and Darian each present their three coins, stepping aside for me to do the same. But I stay rooted to my place.
“Show me your coins,” the Martyshgard repeats.
When I don’t move, Darian asks, “Arien, what’s wrong?”
The Martyshgard warns me impatiently, “You will be eliminated if you don’t show evidence of having two or more coins before sunrise.”
“Arien? What’s the matter?” Bahador reaches out to place a hand on me but stops himself, remembering my injured shoulder.
My mind is clouded with pain, trauma, worry, and unease, and evenIdon’t understand what’s wrong with me. Why am I standing still like a fool? As I look up at Martyshgard’s frustrated face and the concerned expressions of the Izadeonians, the reason suddenly comes to me.
I know I should think carefully about my next actions, but I’m too emotionally drained to exercise my usual hesitation and overthinking. I reach into my pocket and pull out one of the coins.
“Is that all you have?” Martyshgard asks, frowning. I shake my head and turn to my left.
“Lila,” I call out.
She turns to me, clearly confused. I gently toss the coin to her, and shecatches it with wide eyes. Before anyone can react, I turn back to the Martyshgard and show him my other two coins. “I have these.”
He makes a note on his parchment, clearly bored with my theatrics.
Feeling weak and lightheaded, I step aside. Lila is still standing by the table, staring at the coin in her hand. I don’t wait for her to realize what has happened and turn to the Izadeonians.
Faelas is frowning, but I can’t tell if it is disapproval or contemplation. Bahador, on the other hand, is grinning at me with a fondness that would have warmed me under normal circumstances. He nods approvingly. Darian’s face is serious. His eyes linger on me as he opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right words. Finally, he says, “Let’s get you to a healer.”
“I can go by myself,” I utter and add before he can protest, “I need a moment.”
There is compassion and understanding in his eyes, as if he knows very well what it means to want to be alone, to process what has happened to you, and to collect your thoughts in privacy. He still looks worried but nods reluctantly. “Find us after you’re healed.”
I nod back, feeling grateful for his understanding and the unusual concern and compassion that have developed between us. As I walk toward the infirmary, I notice Lila approaching the Martyshgard with hesitation, as if she has finally realized that she is advancing on to the next trial.
And then… I see Zanyar, silent and motionless, several paces behind us, clearly waiting for Lila to claim her rank first.
His eyes are on me, emotionless and deep. I don’t know how long he has been there or how much he has seen, but a sudden and profound sense of relief washes over me at the sight of him safe. He looks almost too safe, as if he is back from a leisurely stroll in the gardens rather than having just fought four Jamshahis.
The relief is so intense that it takes my breath away. The heat I felt earlier threatens to creep up my neck again as I remember the way he looked at me in the arena, when we were so close, when our breaths mingled and our eyes locked.
But I push the memory away. I am too tired, too injured, too traumatized, to delve into the complexities of my feelings right now.
I hesitate only for another moment, holding his gaze before I turn my back on him and head to the infirmary.
Chapter Eighteen
The sky bleeds crimson, painting the distant mountain peaks with the promise of a new day. I sit on the cold, damp battlements of Jahanwatch, watching as the sun struggles to rise.
Unlike the gentle pastels that graced Firelands’s skies, dawn here is a brutal affair. The sky blazes with fiery colors, reflecting off the cold stone beneath me, offering no warmth or solace.
A dull, rhythmic pain throbs in my shoulder and each breath sends a fresh wave of agony through me, but it’s nothing compared to the emotional turmoil I feel inside. I knew a healer was what I needed, but my legs moved with a will of their own, leading me up to the battlements instead of toward the solace of the infirmary.
As I sit on the battlements, the dawning light brings me no peace. The new day stretches before me, vast and uncertain, just like the trials themselves.
I should be relieved to have survived the night, but instead, I am lost in a maze of confusion and a gnawing gloom that I do not understand.
The events of last night repeat in my mind like a haunting melody. The fear of elimination and the weight of potential failure. The stone crashing down on Rygnar’s skull before he could attack me.
And then… Zanyar. I don’t understand him or my reaction to him. What was that moment that felt so intimate? Did I imagine it? And why did I react to it that way? I have always felt flustered around him, but who isn’t? That moment, though… it was different. It was something else. Did he want to… kiss me?
The notion is so bizarre, so out of this world, that I want to dismiss it with all my might. But what if hedidwant to? Would I have allowed it? I don’t know, and that’s the most confusing part of it all.
